


Ant and Boot

by Muriel_Perun



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Loki Lies, Nick Fury Lies, Whipping, but where did they stick loki?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:56:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1573520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muriel_Perun/pseuds/Muriel_Perun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers have beaten the Chitauri, and Tony Stark wants to get shawarma. Nick Fury agrees to guard Loki. But Loki has his own plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ant and Boot

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Catalena Mara for much inspiring Lokichat and for her beta of this story!

At long last, Loki was safely subdued, loaded down with chains and confined to a chair in the grand room atop Stark Tower. Best of all, in Tony Stark’s opinion, Loki’s mouth was clamped shut with what Thor had described as a mystical gag.

Tony had snorted when he heard Thor describe it. “Between the outfits and the magic tricks, I’m not surprised that you Asgardians get kinky. But, hey, if it keeps him quiet, I’m good with it.”

“I do not know what you mean by ‘kinky,’” Thor said irritably, sure that Stark was making fun of him again. He was fatigued, and his brother had just caused a terrible catastrophe in Midgard. What the consequences of these events would be once the All-Father had passed judgment, he could only imagine.

“Come on,” Tony said, grunting, “help me get out of this busted suit. I want to go get shawarma.” No one moved to help him.

Hands on hips, Steve Rogers squinted out the window at the devastation all around them. “We’re not finished. There are still people trapped in buildings who need to go to the hospital. We should help clean up the streets so emergency vehicles can get through. And, besides, we can’t leave him here alone.” He nodded towards Loki without quite looking at him. The wind whistled though the broken windows, and the sound of sirens still wafted up faintly from the streets below.

Tony sighed and stopped fiddling with his suit. “Okay, in that case, here’s the plan. Clint and Natasha will keep an eye on things while we take people to the hospital and clear the streets. By that time we’ll need to find the big guy a pair of pants, and then we’ll go eat. I’ll call Nick. He can babysit Clockwork Orange here—yeah, I know, he’s your brother, but he knocked my name off the building—while we do our thing. After dinner, Thor can get Mad Max back to Asgard in time for cocktail hour, because it’s always five o’clock somewhere. How’s that for a day’s work?"

Hawkeye and Natasha stayed with Loki while everyone else went to assist with search and rescue. Loki sat unnaturally still, not moving a muscle. No expression showed in his eyes.

 

“What’s with the creeper?” Natasha asked, watching him through half-closed eyes.

“What? He’s not doing anything.” Hawkeye glanced up from working on his bowstring.

“Exactly. And earlier he looked like he had ADD.”

Hawkeye shrugged. “He looks like he’s thinking.”

Natasha snorted. “And that’s okay because...?”

“Hey, we can’t stop him from thinking. As long as he can’t disappear, I don’t care what goes on in his head. And as long as he stays out of _my_ head.” He shuddered.

Natasha looked at Loki speculatively. “I could knock him out.”

Hawkeye laughed. “I think Dr. Banner’s Other Guy already did that. But, if you feel like it, I got no problem.”

Loki showed no reaction whatsoever.

 

“What’s shawarma, again?” Bruce Banner was standing awkwardly, holding up with both hands his only garment—torn trousers, which were covered in dust. It was several hours later, and the newly formed Avengers were back at Stark Tower, tired, bruised, and dirty, reluctantly letting Tony herd them towards the shawarma place.

Stark ignored the question. “This man needs a pair of pants,” he said brightly.

He walked stiffly towards a closet at the back of the enormous room, his damaged suit clanking around him. “Jarvis,” he said, “can you get this thing off me?”

“And shoes,” Bruce called after him. “And socks, and maybe a shirt?”

 

The helicarrier was hovering just off the Brooklyn Navy Yard for repairs, holding position high above the water with the engines exposed. Cranes lowered massive replacement blades to technicians in safety gear who were trying to rebuild the damaged engine. Even though he had his hands full, Nick Fury was waiting on deck to receive the prisoner when the chopper arrived. Ordinarily, he would have let his misgivings guide his judgment about taking Loki back on board, but this time curiosity about loose ends was firmly in the driver’s seat, so Fury accepted Stark’s reassurances that the chains and gag would hold Loki no matter what. But when the trickster disembarked from the bird, he looked—not defeated, exactly, but more like quiescent. The faint alarm bell that rang in Fury’s head when he saw that bland expression would not be turned off.

“Are you sure he’s safe?” Fury asked Stark softly.

“That’s what the strong man says, and he would know. He says there are spells on the chains and on the gag. Apparently it’s a redundant system—one or the other would hold him just fine. Am I sensing a change of heart, here, Nick? Because everyone did a good day’s work, and this is no time for takeout, you know? I want to do a little team-building.”

Fury scoffed. “All this fuss over a sandwich. I’m just remembering that someone once told me that the most dangerous kind of villain is one who knows how to wait.”

“Hm. Deep. Yeah, I did tell you that. I guess when you live for thousands of years you learn how to bide your time. Right now, while he’s wearing all that hardware with the whammy on it, he can’t do much besides waiting for Daddy to get home. Look, all you have to do is sit him in a chair and watch him. Call me if anything happens. Anything at all. And don’t get any ideas about a debrief. We’ll do it together later, okay?” He paused for a moment. “A sandwich? Is that what shawarma is?”

Fury laughed and shook his head. “How long have you lived in New York? You ought to spend more time at street level.”

Stark always seemed to hear the silence of an unanswered question. “Nick? No debrief, right? Magic tricks aside, don’t poke the hornet’s nest, not by yourself.”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” Fury lied smoothly. That’s always what it seemed to come to with Stark, and Stark knew it, so why he turned, apparently satisfied, to reboard the chopper, Fury never understood.

Stark climbed the ladder but stopped before ducking inside. “I don’t care if you think of it, Chief, but for god’s sake don’t do it. He’s the god of lies, remember? Operative word: lies. Debriefing him is a waste of time anyway.”

Fury smiled. Debriefing, done correctly, was never a waste of time.

Maria Hill stood just within the bulkhead, looking faintly alarmed as a pair of soldiers led Loki inside. She looked him over with undisguised mistrust, as his eyes lingered on her for a moment with no apparent interest. “Sir, may I just point out one more time that I advise against this course of action?”

“Noted,” Fury snapped. He wanted to watch the man—or god, or whatever he was—for a while before deciding what to do. But there were some answers he really wanted to get, and, god of lies or not, Fury had faith in his methods. The right application of pain did wonders to straighten out a crooked tale.

They led Loki to a small cell and sat him in a chair and battened him down with more chains so that he couldn’t even flip the chair over without breaking a few of them, and he couldn’t do that without his magic. Just in case, Fury wished he still had the Hulk’s cell with the option of dumping Loki into the drink as a contingency.

“We’ll be watching you,” he warned, as he followed the guards out of the room. Only then did he think he detected a trace of amusement in Loki’s eyes.

 

The cell door whooshed open. Loki was sitting in the chair, exactly as they had left him. According to what they’d seen on the monitor, he hadn’t struggled at all, and he hadn’t closed his eyes either. With the gag in his mouth, his expression was close to impossible to read. He seemed dormant, withdrawn into that crazy stewpot he called his mind.

“Let’s go,” Fury said, gesturing at the guard, who went over and unlocked the chains that bound Loki to the chair. Fury only had one guard with him, because the fewer who saw what was about to go down, the better. And that really meant he was doing his best to make sure Maria Hill never found out what happened here. He hoped he had chosen the best man for this job, a guy named McCarthy, who had a reputation for being unflappable and who never disobeyed orders.

Loki rose slowly, impassively, and walked obediently out the door.

Down on the lower deck, the vibrations from the engines were stronger. The wind whistled through the cavernous space, and it smelled like the ocean. Here, Fury had the same failsafe available as in the old cage. If the anti-magic chains came off, he could open a hatch and drop the prisoner into the sea below.

One chair waited on the metal deck. “Sit down, “ Fury ordered tersely. Loki sat. The guard chained his feet together and fastened them to a steel ring set in the deck. His hands were already chained together and linked to the collar around his neck. All told, he was probably carrying 100 pounds of metal, but Fury had no illusions that it would slow him down if he were capable of using his powers. He looked down at Loki, meeting his eyes.

“I want some answers about the Chitauri. If I take off your gag, will you tell me what you know? Just so we’re clear, there will be no deals. Just a few minutes without the gag.”

Loki nodded once.

As the gag came off, he worked his jaw and then settled his face into the same impassive expression as before.

Fury waited, but Loki did not speak. “You’re welcome,” Fury said, watching his face.

“So, you were going to tell me about the Chitauri?” Fury began, encouragingly.

Again, he was met with nothing but silence.

“The Chitauri. You promised you’d tell me.” Fury was on the clock, which, as he well knew, was the worst way to run an interrogation.

Loki drew in an audible breath and let it out. “I promised nothing. I merely nodded,” he said pleasantly.

“Should I put the gag back on?”

A shrug that lifted the chains and let them fall back with a clank. “As you wish. I’m in no position to stop you.” Loki’s urbane laughter annoyed Fury no end, but he didn’t let it show.

“I need to find out more about the Chitauri. Surely it will do you no harm to give me some information. Or are you planning on working with them again?”

“There are many thousands of them dead in your streets. Dissect one and you’ll find out all you need to know.” Loki smiled a cold little smile that seemed to show too many teeth.

“Of course we’ll do that. But you knew them,” Nick coaxed. “Why can’t you tell me more about them? We know they’re half flesh and half machine.”

“Very good.” Loki smiled, more broadly this time. “You’re not entirely brainless.”

Fury was already thinking of his next move, of the method of persuasion he planned to use here. He thought it might work, either through pain or humiliation, or both. If his next question hung in the air like the others, he would start the real interrogation. He was itching to wipe the smirk off Loki’s face.

“And, what else? Who rules them?”

Loki shifted slightly in his chair and laughed delightedly. “You’re the one extracting information. I’m the one being interrogated. So, extract. How are you planning to get me to talk?”

Fury leaned in, feigning more surprise than he felt. “You want me to torture you?”

Soft laughter. “I doubt I have a choice about that.”

Fury prided himself on showing an intimidating image to the world. Most of what he needed, he got by asking with just the right edge of threat. But there were times when threat didn’t work, and at those times Fury never hesitated to move to swift, bold action. At a nod from Fury, McCarthy pulled the chair out from under Loki to pitch him awkwardly forward onto his knees. Quickly, he attached Loki’s handcuffs to the floor, so that the prisoner had to brace himself against the metal with his hands or elbows to stay on all fours and keep his face off the deck.

“Ah, now it starts,” Loki drawled, sounding much more amused than Fury hoped he really was. “You people of Midgard are barbarians, mere animals, suited to a strong hand. You would have been happier under my rule.”

“Your rule? Strange, but you don’t seem much like a ruler now, kneeling to me and chained to my deck.” Fury couldn’t suppress his pleasure at the truth of those words. After the terror and anxiety of the last few days, Loki was finally under his hands. He decided to move decisively so that his actions might carry extra shock value. “Cut his clothes off,” he ordered. Letting his head tilt forward toward the deck, Loki dissolved into helpless laughter.

“Sir,” McCarthy asked hesitantly, “what about when Thor comes to take him back?”

“We’ll loan him a hospital gown,” Fury roared, annoyed at the interruption. “Do it now!”

Once properly motivated, McCarthy carried out his orders quickly and efficiently. As the cloth fell away from Loki’s lean and muscled body, Fury saw that he bore marks from earlier mistreatment. There were bruises from his defeat at the hands of the Hulk, but his limbs were also striped with wounds from systematic torture. From the shoulder down, his arms were scored by deep cuts, each one of which had obviously been widened and torn by some sort of blunt instrument. All in all, it was a nasty and efficient job, and, considering how quickly these Asgardians healed, it must have been done recently.

“Now you’ve seen something you didn’t expect,” Loki said smugly. “What do you think about that?” It was the first time he had volunteered anything, and Fury was encouraged. Maybe by showing sympathy, by taking Loki’s side against the Chitauri, he could get somewhere.

“I think the Chitauri tortured you. Why do you protect them, then?”

Loki was silent again. He shifted on his knees and hands, as if trying to escape the rivets set in the metal deck that dug into his flesh.

“Why did they torture you?”

The question seemed to provoke the man to anger. “Who knows? Because I was there? Or maybe they enjoyed it. Maybe you should ask yourself. Why are you torturing me?”

Fury laughed and shook his head, although he wasn’t sure that Loki was even watching him. “I haven’t hurt you, and it doesn’t need to come to that,” he said easily. “I just need some information.“

“Try this,” Loki said briefly. “The Chitauri are all dead. You won’t have to worry about them again.”

This had gone far enough. Time to get real. Loki apparently still felt as if he had some kind of control, and it was time to disabuse him of that notion. Fury squatted down and made eye contact. “What if I said that, while I do need information, I also kind of think I’d like to hear you scream. Did the Chitauri make you scream?”

“Honesty. How refreshing.” Loki laughed in great amusement. “I might be able to help with that. I always try to oblige my torturers with a few screams.”

“Were you under their control?”

“I am under no one’s control,” he spat. “I tricked them.”

Anger. That was good. Anger made the truth come out. “How did you do that?”

“Figure it out,” Loki said viciously through clenched teeth.

“I’m trying to. But you let them destroy half of downtown Manhattan. They killed hundreds of people, traumatized and injured thousands more. That’s not much of a trick.”

“And then they were vanquished.” Loki spoke the words with exaggerated emphasis, as if to a child.

Fury ignored the implied insult. “No thanks to you. And why did you lead them here? Why did they come? Why Earth?”

“Why should I speak?” Loki countered ironically. “I am kneeling here before you, naked and helpless. On my own world I face a punishment you could never dream of. I have no reason to tell you anything.”

Usually by now the men Fury brought down here were shivering with fear and cold, starting to realize that the pain they dreaded was inevitable as long as they refused to speak. Half of them broke before a single blow fell, others soon after. But Loki.... Fury smiled. Loki would prove a challenge. But he would break, like all the others.

“Do you want me to torture you?” Fury asked again, with mock incredulity.

Twisting, Loki smiled up at him sideways through tangled hair. “I want to see if you can.”

“You—what?” Fury kicked himself for this sign of weakness, but really, he hadn’t seen that coming. He was getting overconfident. He needed to stay in the moment.

“Sometimes it’s as informative to be on the receiving end of the knife as it is to wield it.” Loki smiled in a particularly infuriating way.

Okay, if that’s what he wanted. Fury stood and walked around where Loki couldn’t see him. “Hit him,” he ordered tersely. He usually liked to have someone else, an underling, start the beating so that he could observe the prisoner’s reactions. McCarthy had known this ahead of time when Fury had told him the game plan. But, when confronted with the real thing, he looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Sir, I don’t know if I—” Damn McCarthy anyway. He was ruining the pacing Fury liked to establish.

“Give me that!” Fury grabbed from McCarthy’s hand the implement he had decided on earlier. It was an old whip, constructed for a very specific purpose. The handle was rounded wood, with a good grip that had been smoothed by many hands. The strap was short and thick, weighted, so that when you slapped it down with just the right technique it left a satisfying welt. Originally, it had been intended to drive recalcitrant cattle, snapping nicely against cowhide with enough sound and enough of a sting to show a beast which way it had better start walking. Since then, the strap had been modified, and against a man’s skin it could make anything from a faint mark to a deep cut, depending upon the skill and intention of the one who wielded it. Considering Loki’s strength and endurance, Fury figured he had a bit more leeway than usual.

Better still, it was the perfect weapon when a bit of grandstanding was needed. It looked dangerous, it made a sharp report when flicked, and it stung like hell. How humiliating for this so-called god to kneel in chains and take an expert beating from a human being. He considered Loki’s back carefully. Aside from a few bruises, it was untouched. Now that Fury was holding the whip—now that he had made sure Loki had seen it in his hand—there was no real rush to get started. Loki was trying to hold still, but Fury could see a few small, nervous movements as he waited for the first blow.

Fury took his time picking a spot. When he had it, he visualized the damage he wanted to do—no more, no less. And he waited until he felt it in his gut, the anger—but not too much. The excitement of the competition, the desire to win—but not enough to make him act without thought. Above all, he had to feel a sense of easy mastery to get through this. It was no trivial thing to beat a man. No matter how Loki reacted, Fury had to react right back. An interrogation was a directed dialogue of words and actions, a dance of two wills. Pain was just a tool that gave one party an advantage. What was important was leading the subject to the right state of mind. When Loki was ready to believe that he himself was responsible for the pain, and that only he could stop it, then Fury would win. He slapped the leather strap down brutally hard on a diagonal across the center of Loki’s naked back.

Loki gasped and pitched forward, struggling for air. As soon as he could breathe, he began to laugh. “A splendid beginning,” he gasped. “I commend your humanity.” On the skin, a welt rose, angry red, with a few pearls of blood at the far end where the strap had bitten through. Perfect. Exactly the effect Fury had been going for.

“Don’t talk to me about humanity. Not after what you did today.” He slapped it down several times in succession, and he wasn’t pulling any punches.

Loki was breathing slowly and rhythmically like a guy who knew how to take a thrashing. “What is that implement, if I may ask?” he choked, clearly trying to sound conversational. “It is quite effective.”

Fury’s blood was up. He wanted to see Loki lose it, not have a tea party with him. This was not the time to give him a respite. “It’s a cow whip,” he answered, smacking it down with a satisfying thwack. “An old rancher gave it to me. Do you like it? Want to feel it again?”

“Not especially.” Loki’s weak laughter was cut off by another blow.

“Then why don’t you tell me about the Chitauri?” Fury started again. “Are they still a threat to us? What is their weak spot? Who leads them?”

“A cow whip?” Loki asked, still breathing hard. “Of course, it would be. Never mind. Private joke.”

“I’m glad you’re finding it funny. Now, answer my questions.” If a man didn’t break after the first few whacks, then, Fury had found, the best next move was to overwhelm him with a quick battery. He worked his way down Loki’s back and up again with a regular arrangement of overlapping blows that created a diamond pattern of swollen welts on the skin. There was an art to this, horrible as it was. Fury was in a groove now, working carefully, watching for any signs, no matter how small, that he was pushing Loki where he needed him to go. Fury worked rapidly, never allowing Loki to catch his breath, or, above all, to talk. And, if he did it right, if the pain sufficed, Loki would be more than eager to tell him everything when the blows finally ceased.

Loki shook his head and stirred as if to speak. Fury paused, his arm in midair. “What...what were you asking me again?” If Loki was feigning confusion, he was doing a damn good job.

“The Chitauri. What do you know about them?”

“Oh, yes, the Chitauri. They tortured me.” Loki’s eyes had been closed but he opened them suddenly and gave Fury a sidelong glance and a quick, strained smile. “I’m afraid I lied about the screaming.” He hung his head, laughing quietly, and of course Fury had to respond with a long volley of blows.

How could Loki get through this without talking, without screaming? He was clearly in pain—he responded to every blow with a grunt and a flinch. He was bleeding, trembling, gritting his teeth. His breathing sounded agonizing. Why hadn’t he broken?

And then, suddenly, it was getting harder to find a spot to lay down a stripe. Loki’s back was so thoroughly battered that it made Fury uneasy to see it. He hadn’t expected things to go this far. He didn’t mean to kill Thor’s brother, and this kind of a flogging would kill some human men, or at least leave painful scars that would last a lifetime. He thought of the pictures he had seen of African slaves in the Civil War era, men who had taken such abuse that their skin had healed in odd whorls of scar tissue. What was he doing here? A wave of nausea hit him, and he dropped the whip down to his side.

Loki took in a painful breath. “Is your arm becoming tired?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “Aren’t you enjoying yourself as much as you thought you would?”

Seldom in his career had Fury been forced to beat a man to this point. Whenever a subject had held out this long, to a man they had been lying on the floor sobbing, broken, ready to give him everything he wanted. But Loki had—with some difficulty—remained on all fours, a testament to his strength, and even to his courage, Fury had to admit grudgingly, or perhaps it was just a testament to his insanity. He stopped for a moment, breathing hard himself, wondering when this would end.

Fury wasn’t sure what to say or do. He had to end this soon, but as long as Loki could still taunt him, didn’t it mean that he could take a little more punishment? This might be a crucial point where Fury could get what he needed.

“I want that information,” he said firmly, laying down a few lighter blows. Although the bloody damage they added to Loki’s ravaged flesh made Fury wince, he kept his voice steady.

The touch of the leather over already flayed skin seemed to turn the tide. Loki was panting hard and vocally, keening softly in a way that, in Fury’s experience, indicated great fear. His back was slick with sweat and blood that leaked slowly from the more severe welts, the deep red contrasting with the pallid shade of his unmarked skin, so white it was almost blue. He appeared to be on the verge of panic, right where he was supposed to be. Why had Fury been having doubts? This was brutal work, but he was going to win. He squatted down to talk to his victim.

“I really don’t want to go on with this,” he said confidentially, “but you’re forcing my hand. It’s up to you. Let’s stop it now. It’s in your power to stop this. I just need a bit of information. Just talk to me about the Chitauri.” Fury heard McCarthy getting sick in the corner. “If you can’t hold it together, soldier,” he growled, “get someone else down here who can.”

“Sorry, sir. I’ll be all right.” McCarthy looked shaky and white-faced, but Fury couldn’t worry about him now. Loki was finally speaking in a low but urgent voice. He leaned in to listen.

“The Chitauri. Oh, yes, the Chitauri,” Loki was saying with effort. “They caused me much pain. They thought they could undo me and then make me their creature, but I have been undone before.”

“What did they want from you?” Fury asked softly, trying not to stem the flow of words now that it had started.

“You see, when you’ve been tortured by your father you become a connoisseur of pain. An aficionado, one might say.” Loki’s voice was unsteady. He bowed his head to the floor, his body trembling with what Fury recognized as shock and fear.

“Your father tortured you?” They were still a bit off topic, but Loki would tell him the other stuff soon. Right now it was smart to respond to what he said, to give him as much encouragement as possible. Fury congratulated himself on playing it by the book. This made sense. When guys were at the panicky stage, sometimes they tried a last-ditch diversion, but they let go of it soon enough. It was time to sympathize with the guy in pain, to sympathize and make friends and then coax him back to the main event.

Loki made a small sound like a sob. “He called it punishment, but he tortured me all the time. Oh, the barbs he stuck me with, the cruel traps he laid for me, the times he left me chained without food or water. He found endless ways to punish me for a mere joke, or a small act of defiance! Once, for disobedience, he gave me a taste of his most exquisitely refined chastisement. I was chained to a mountainside with my own entrails. Above me slithered an enormous serpent—almost a dragon, really—with huge, sharp fangs. Hot venom dripped from its jaws and splashed into my face. He left me there for days, only a few days, but they felt like centuries.”

A story like that, told in a semi-whisper in a voice full of suffering—it made the hair stand up on the back of your neck. And if you were standing there with a whip in your hand, looking at the ruined back of the man you had just thrashed to a pulp, it made you feel like a filthy bastard.

Loki’s voice went lower, and Nick bent closer to hear. “I begged him to make the punishment stop, but he wouldn’t answer my pleas. Though I tried, I found no way to avoid the poison. Slowly, slowly, my eyelids dissolved away, a layer at a time, then, my eyes. At first, I could see as through a veil, and finally, blackness. I was completely blind. And I thought the torment would never end.”

Nick felt sick at heart, and his brain was struggling to catch up with his feelings. Loki was telling him a story. But was it true? It sure sounded true. It was hitting Nick where he lived, making his gut twist in regret and horror. In the corner, McCarthy was sitting bunched up in a fetal position, holding his knees and bowing his head, his eyes tightly closed.

“If I am sent back to Asgard, I know that I will be tortured, but I hope for death at the end of it. The All-Father—he could put me there on that rock again, but I pray that he cuts off my head and throws my body out for his ravens to devour. I would do anything—anything—to avoid the pain and terror of those endless hours I spent on the mountainside with the serpent hissing above me.”

Loki’s voice was rich as silk—expressive, compelling. Most guys weren’t this articulate after an hour of pain and terror. But, the way he was confessing? That was textbook. The guy was in agony, panicked, desperate. He was reaching out to the only person who mattered, the guy who held the whip. This was the way it was supposed to go down. But what a crazy story. Would a father do that to his son in any universe? They sure did things differently in Asgard. And why did Nick care, anyway? What made him hang on this man’s every word? Why shouldn’t the perpetrator of one of the deadliest, most cold-blooded invasions in modern times be tortured, blinded, eaten away by serpent venom, even if it lasted for a thousand years?

In his heart, Nick knew why—because this was a civilized country. Punishments had to be reasonable here. Because even what he was doing right now, no matter how strange the circumstances and how alien or evil the perp, was wrong. Maybe Stark was right when he said that, once you started using torture, no one was safe.

“And, yes, I screamed,” Loki was saying, his voice shaking, sounding as if he were about to weep. “I screamed and screamed until the mountains of the Nine Realms shook in terror.”

Of all the interrogations he had carried out in his long career, Nick had never done one that baffled and horrified him as thoroughly as this. There were deep waters here, and he shouldn’t be swimming in them. Stark had been right. Thor would be back soon, and when he saw this—

His cell phone rang. It was Agent Romanoff. Nick could hear Loki breathing heavily and whispering to himself like a lunatic in the movies. Fury had gone too far. It was time to stop this madness. He had done it—he had broken Loki’s will. Fury could get the information he needed and then get this guy cleaned up and back in his cell before anyone knew what had happened here.

“Yes?” He made an effort to sound normal.

“Hey, Nick, Tony wanted me to call you. Everything all right up there?”

“Fine, yeah. Repairs are moving along.” He hoped he wasn’t overplaying it. The woman usually had a bullshit detector that just didn’t quit. “What’s up?”

“We need to go back and finish cleaning up the worst block of Park Avenue in front of Stark Tower so traffic can get through and people can get into their buildings. We’ll just be a couple more hours. You okay with that?”

“Fine, fine, take your time.” He tried not to sound as if he couldn’t wait to get her off the phone. “Did you get your shawarma?”

“Yeah, of course. Otherwise Stark would never shut up. And, speaking of Stark, he says to remind you that they don’t call him Loki Silver-Tongue because he’s good with the ladies. Tony’s words, not mine.”

Hanging up the phone, Nick rubbed his hands together. It was damned cold down here. He had a couple more hours to play with now that he could spend doing damage control. If Romanoff found out Fury had been lying his head off, she’d be furious. So would they all. He looked at McCarthy, who was almost whimpering in his corner. “McCarthy, let’s go,” Fury ordered sharply. The soldier jumped up and stumbled eagerly to the door. He’d send McCarthy up to get something for Loki to wear and have a different man come back to help with the cleanup. Meanwhile, he’d ask his questions once more, and, this time, he hoped he’d get answers, because the last thing he wanted to do was strike this man again.

Loki had collapsed to his elbows and taken his face into his chained hands.

“Don’t leave,” Loki said, his voice muffled, “please don’t leave.” He choked and moaned softly, rocking his body rhythmically from side to side like a sick child.

“Let’s end this now,” Nick said kindly. “Tell me about the Chitauri, and then we’ll fix you up and get you back in your cell.” He felt like a jerk, but he just couldn’t resist the chance to get what he came for. Otherwise, he told himself, all his trouble and all Loki’s pain had been for nothing. “What can you tell me? Don’t worry, anything you know will help. Even just a small thing.”

“Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough?” Loki asked softly. “I just did what the Chitauri made me do. They tortured me. I couldn’t refuse to lead them, but—you saw—I didn’t really do much to help them.” He paused, moaning softly on every exhale as if desperately exhausted. “Unchain me. Let me sit in the chair and face you like a man, and I’ll tell you everything.”

Loki Silver-Tongue. Anger rose bright and scalding behind Fury’s eyes. “Don’t think you can play me,” he cried, “because you can’t.” What riled him more than anything was that it had almost worked. The guy had gotten him tied up in knots with that damn scary story. If it hadn’t been for Tony asking Natasha to call.... He slapped the leather down across Loki’s martyred back again and again, unable or unwilling to stop his hand. Loki grunted and jerked against the chains. His head touched the floor and he groaned once, loudly.

But Loki’s groan turned into a guttural roar, and suddenly he was screaming, thrashing and twisting in his chains. He snarled like an animal, showing Nick his teeth in complete, uncontrollable rage. Nick took a step back.

“Don’t play you? I’ve been playing you since the beginning,” Loki spat bitterly. “And I would have had you if that _woman_ hadn’t called. Simpleton, do you think you can break me, break _me,_ with your little whip? Oh, you’re all so full of human kindness, but so quick to use pain to get what you want, so fond of causing pain that you go on and on beating me, pretending that it has a purpose. Wrapping yourself in your hypocritical ideals. Torture is wrong, but only when it’s done to you,” he mocked. “Every death is tragic, unless you’re the one doing the killing.” Loki scoffed and smiled malevolently. “Isn’t that your American creed? Did I get it right?” He seemed to have no trouble catching his breath now. “Pain is where I live. It is my native element. As well try to drown a fish as to break me with pain. You pathetic fool! When my Father executes me and frees my spirit, I shall curse you in my death throes. Beware the curse of a dying mage, for it can never be unsaid!”

Broken wisps of green rose from his hair and dissipated in the cold air. Loki was trying to use his magic. Tendrils of green mist curled around Loki’s back, and suddenly it seemed as if the bleeding was stopping, the wounds becoming marginally less raw. It took a lot to scare Nick Fury, but this qualified. Nick was sorry he’d ever accepted this fruitcake back on his ship. He’d let Thor deal with the mystical gag. He just wanted to get out of here.

He dragged McCarthy, who looked as if he might pass out, through the hallway and into the elevator that led to the bridge.

 

 

Fury stood and watched the scene of his failure on the monitor from the bridge for over an hour before the team returned while Hill gave him the stink-eye from the other side of the cavernous room. Loki had subsided once again into stillness right after Fury left, curled into a kneeling crouch with his head bowed and his cuffed hands extended before him. He looked so helpless when he was still, with his spare, wiry body and his pale, pale skin. He looked as helpless as any naked man in chains, except for the changes happening on his skin. Although the green mist was no longer visible, bit by bit his wounds were mending, slowly fading out rather than scabbing over, though they were deep enough that he still had a long way to go. Fury would have been willing to bet that, eventually, there wouldn’t even be a scar.

It occurred to Fury that it would be politick to gag him, unchain him from the deck, find him some clothes and return him to his cell before Thor got back. But he just couldn’t make himself go down there again. This guy was too dangerous to be on the ship at all. He had recovered partial use of his magic, despite the chains. Had the anger helped him do that? And had the pain allowed him to get to the anger?

Fury wondered why Thor hadn’t warned them right at the beginning that his brother was so formidable. Maybe he’d thought their security measures were better, Fury reflected, or maybe even he didn’t know the full extent of Loki’s powers.

As Fury expected, only part of the team returned to collect Loki. Banner, Natasha, and Hawk had gone back to Stark Tower, but would meet once more in Central Park before going their separate ways.

Stark stalked onto the command bridge as if he owned it. “So, where’s Cuckoo’s Nest?” he asked immediately.

“On the lower deck.” Fury indicated the monitor.

Stark clamped his hands over his eyes and turned away. “He’s naked. Why didn’t you tell me he was naked?”

As Steve peered at the monitor, a blush rose from his neck to the tops of his ears. “What happened to his back?” he asked, appalled. “Did you do that?”

Stark turned to face Fury. “You did a debrief, didn’t you?” he asked sharply. “I knew you’d do that. Either that or you had an orgy. Did you have an orgy? Because if you did, I don’t want to hear about that.”

“I tried a debrief,” Fury began. The spin he’d been preparing started sounding pretty thin, and he hadn’t even said it yet. “I took him down there where it was nice and cold. I figured I could—”

“Cold?” Thor asked with sudden interest, joining them at the station by the monitor.

“I figured if I made him uncomfortable, he might tell me a few things about the Chitauri.”

“Great plan. Except I’m figuring it didn’t work,” Stark said. When Stark got after you about something, he never let go.

“Not as well as I had hoped,” Fury said, wondering how much Loki would have a chance to say before he was gagged again. Maybe Fury could still do some damage control.

“You took him below, where no one could watch you, and you beat him up,” Steve was saying incredulously. “He’s a prisoner, and you beat him up. That’s against the 1929 Geneva Convention.”

“Asgard didn’t sign the Geneva Convention,” Fury said dryly. He forbore to mention that the damage from the beating had looked infinitely worse an hour before.

“That doesn’t matter. It’s inhuman. And don’t say, ‘He’s not human.’” Steve was sputtering with outrage, pointing at the monitor. “Look at him! He’s bleeding, and he’s so cold, he’s—”

“Blue,” Thor said, his voice rising. “He’s blue. Oh, this is bad. You should not have done this.”

“What’s so bad about it?” Fury asked irritably, having had just about enough of this tag-team scolding.

“Spit it out, Cicero,” Stark demanded. “What’s bad?”

Thor swallowed hard and tried to speak quickly over the lump in his throat. “Loki is Jotun. He is of the ice giants. They draw their power from—”

“Cold,” said Stark. “Of course, it’s cold.”

“Yes,” Thor croaked. “We must remove him from that place before he regains the use of his magic.”

Fury was caught between admitting how badly he had tortured Loki and withholding what he knew about Loki’s recovery of his magic. He opened his mouth to speak, but was saved from confession when, on the monitor, Loki, whose skin had by now turned a mottled blue, was taking a deep, moaning, rattling breath and struggling to stand, straining against his chains. Bright green vapor rose from his hands.

“Show me where he is!” Thor commanded, taking Fury hard by the arm and spinning him around.

“He’s on the hangar deck, the lowest level.” They all ran together, heading for the stairs. Nick touched Stark’s shoulder and spoke in a low voice. “If things really get out of control, I can open the hatch and let him go down.”

“No,” Thor said firmly, “that must not happen. Loki must face judgment in Asgard.”

They ran steadily down the stairs, with Thor pulling steadily ahead and Fury falling behind.

“Now where?” Thor stopped just past the lowest step, looking left and right. Fury had not seen him look this frantic before.

They ran toward the security door to the hangar deck, fearing the worst. Thor waited at the door, Mjolnir at the ready. Nick pushed the switch that disengaged the lock.

A strange sight greeted their eyes. Loki was there, standing straight up. The chains that had not been enchanted—the ones that had bound his feet and tethered him to the deck—were gone, apparently dissolved in the greenish haze that swirled around him. He was dressed as before, with no signs that his clothing had been cut off. But the metal collar and the chains on his wrists still resisted his efforts. The runes etched into them glowed a deep red. He stood, eyes closed, with an intense expression on his face.

“No, Loki,” said Thor, approaching him cautiously. “You must not cause these people further trouble. You must come with me to Asgard.”

“Why?” Loki asked, opening his eyes. His face was twisted with effort. “Why must I go there to die?”

Thor looked confused. To him, all was self-evident. “It is right,” he said simply. “You must face the judgment of Odin.”

“I have faced the judgment of Odin all my life,” Loki said resentfully. He continued to struggle with the chain between his wrists, and it looked to Fury as if the metal were deforming slightly, beginning to stretch.

“Stand down, Loki,” he said firmly, moving his hand to the lever that would release the section of desk Loki stood on. “Everyone, move clear of the red line.”

Loki looked around himself. “I would rather die here and cheat the All-Father of his revenge. How he will shout when my corpse is brought to him on a board. And the salt water will make it unfit for his ravens to devour.”

“No, Loki,” Thor repeated desperately. “Think of Mother.”

“She is not my mother,“ Loki snarled. His face changed suddenly, showing by turns anger and sadness and contempt. “Do not use my regard for her against me.”

“Then I will use Mjolnir,” Thor said, taking a step forward. “It does not love your magic, Loki.”

“Nor do these chains,” Loki said bitterly. He dropped his hands and stopped his struggle against the enchanted metal.

Thor stepped up to him and took him by the arm. Fury, who had had the presence of mind to bring the mystical gag, handed it silently to Thor.

“Not yet,” Loki said.

Thor looked in his eyes for a moment. “I do not trust you,” he said simply. “What is to keep you from trying again to break your bonds as soon as you can no longer be dropped into the sea?”

“Brother, if you think I fear that death,” Loki said thinly, “then you do not know me at all.”

Thor looked into his eyes a moment longer and shook his head. He manipulated the gag in his hands, turning the sections so that they lined up to his satisfaction.

Stark looked from Loki to Fury and back again. “So, what did you two do while we were gone? I guess it was quite a little garden party.”

“We talked,” Fury said quickly, “about the Chitauri.”

“We spoke of pain,” Loki said pointedly, “and how it is a double-edged sword.”

Fury gave up the pretense. “I skinned you alive,” he ventured. Steve glared at him and shook his head.

“Mere scratches,” Loki said disdainfully.

“I almost had you.” Though he knew it wasn’t so, Fury couldn’t help himself.

Loki’s scornful chuckle started deep in his throat. “That’s what you were meant to think.”

Stark stirred impatiently. “Thor, can you lay that gag on him now? Otherwise we’ll have to get them a room, and that’ll be embarrassing.”

 

A few things were still bothering Fury, and on the flight deck, as Thor prepared to take his prisoner to land, and from there to Asgard, Fury laid a hand on his shoulder and drew him aside, far enough that—he hoped—Loki couldn’t hear. Thor kept his eyes steadily on Loki, a sad and disappointed look on his usually open face.

“So, Thor, I wanted to ask you something,” Fury began. “How was Loki able to use magic? Was it because of the cold?”

Thor grimaced. “I should have told you more about the binding spells on the restraints from Asgard. Both restraints together would hold him no matter what, but when one was removed, the risk of escape was greater. Anger makes Loki stronger. I think he used the cold and the anger caused by the pain together to fight the spells. We are fortunate that he did not succeed.”

Both were silent for a moment as Nick contemplated his narrow escape.

“Was there anything else you wanted to ask me?” Thor asked with a worried frown. “I must return my prisoner to face Odin’s justice.”

Fury took a breath. “Just one more thing—I wanted to apologize to you, for what I did to...your brother.” It was all he could do to keep from grinding his teeth. Apologies never came easy to Nick Fury, even if they were necessary in the name of diplomacy.

“Why?” Thor asked simply, frank surprise written on his face. “Loki damaged your city and killed many people. I can understand that you wished to punish him.”

Fury shook his head. “It wasn’t exactly a punishment. It was an interrogation.”

Thor smiled. “Were you able to obtain any information?”

Nick hated to admit the truth, but he did. “Precious little.”

“And did Loki tell you many things that you did not ask, and did not care to know?” Thor smiled sadly as if he had experienced the same thing more than once.

“Yes,” Fury conceded. “Loki told me a story about Odin tying him to a rock and letting venom drip into his eyes. Does that ring a bell?”

Thor suddenly looked uncomfortable. “He was tied with his own entrails, yes. Those were terrible times.”

“That’s _true_?” Nick wasn’t sure what else to say. “They sure do things differently in Asgard.”

“My father’s rage was...great. It was just a small taste of a terrible punishment to help Loki right his ways before it was too late.”

“Scared straight?” Nick shook his head and scoffed. “And how did that work out?” he drawled.

“As you see,” Thor said, looking down for an instant before raising his eyes again to check on Loki. “Father went too far. Loki’s mind is...as you see,” he said helplessly.

“And, when you take him back there, is it possible that your father will—?” Fury left the rest unsaid.

“It is possible,” Thor said thoughtfully, understanding, “but I would be surprised.” He sighed. “I suspect he will cut off Loki’s head and feed him to the ravens.”

“Oh-kay,” said Nick, thinking of Rogers and his Geneva Convention, “so why would Loki tell me something true?”

“It was ever his way, to turn the truth to a lying purpose.”

“And the threat he made? About cursing me with his dying breath?”

“The curse of a dying mage is best avoided,” Thor said earnestly.

“So, maybe I better hope that your brother lives.”

Thor considered. “In his life, Loki has promised that dying curse to many other enemies. Perhaps, when the time comes, he will remember someone whom he hates more than you.”

“Thank you, Thor,” Fury said wryly. “That’s a great comfort.”

 


End file.
